


Em One (and beyond)

by aralias



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Blake's Junction 7, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Star One' in the Blake's Junction 7 universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Em One (and beyond)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elviaprose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elviaprose/gifts).



> If you haven't seen Blake's Junction 7, this is what you're missing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWuTeR7xCU4

_It is a time of great change…_

_But then it always is, isn’t it? Can’t get used to anything. The known galaxies are still being enslaved by a merciless and corrupt woman and her army of all-powerful stormtroopers, though. And they're still pursuing a group of seven rebels, who continue to fight a brave war of survival..._

_Two years before the events of Blake’s Junction 7..._

 

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Blake said. “Maybe, I don’t know, we should put a bomb or something in Servalan’s laptop. It’s got all her photos on it. Photos, music - maybe even some games...”

Nobody said anything. Blake hadn’t been overly convinced this was an amazing plan before he’d started explaining it, and the lack of interest from his crew deflated him even further.

“Photos,” he said again. “I mean, they’re priceless, aren’t they? Worth a thousand words… “ He tailed off, hoping someone else would say something, but they didn’t. God, leadership was hard. “Well... It's an idea, isn’t it? What do you lot think?”

Jenna exhaled in a long stream of white smoke. “I don’t know, Blake. It seems a bit extreme.”

“That’s right,” Vila said. “After all, we’re not terrorists, are we?” He gave a nervous laugh.

“We are,” Gan said from behind his paper.

“I’m sorry?” Vila said.

“We _are_ terrorists,” Gan said, lowering the paper. “That’s what this group is. Blake’s Seven. Terrorists. Fighting the evil Federation.”

“ _No_ ,” Vila said in disbelief. “ _Really_? Are we?” He looked from Gan to Jenna, who shrugged (bored), and then onto Blake, who gave him a hopeful smile. “I thought we were just going to Calais.”

“Only so as to throw her off the scent, like,” Blake said.

“I thought it was for cheap booze.”

“It _is_ ,” Blake said, “but,” he thought for a moment before could remember the word, “circumstantially. We were going there anyway, so I thought we might as well get cheap booze while we were there.”

“Were we terrorists in Glastonbury too?” Vila asked... Cally, because she hadn’t spoken yet and he thought that it was only fair that she get involved (Dayna wasn’t due to join the crew until next year, and the final member of Blake's current Seven was off scouting the perimeter of the picnic area as dramatically as possible, which was why he hadn’t said anything during the discussion.)

“No, I don’t think so,” Cally said. “It was because Avon likes Metallica.”

“I found it all a bit disappointing,” Gan said. “They’re too nice in their old age. Whoever heard of a heavy metal band thanking their fans for coming?” Jenna nodded in agreement around her cigarette.

“In _Glastonbury_ we were biding our time,” Blake said. “In Calais, we’ll be _throwing her off the scent._ Then we’ll strike… at her computer... where she’ll least expect it.”

“We’ll strike because we’re terrorists?” Vila said.

“Yeah,” Blake said. “But that's, you know, strike like a snake attacking a tiny forest-dwelling rodent. Not strike like a tube driver in need of  more money.”

“It was more jobs, wasn’t it?” Gan said.

“I don’t know,” Blake said, screwing his face up in frustration. “I don’t live in London. The point is,” he said, trying valiantly to rally himself, “that we strike like _this_.” He thrust out a hand - fast, furious, powerful - and it hit Jenna on the shoulder.

“ _OW_ ,” she protested.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me back,” Blake said quickly, moving away from her. Jenna held up her hands in something that looked like resignation, and he relaxed.

“Terrifying terrorists,” Gan said to Vila, presumably as a commentary on the embarrassing scene that had just played out in front of him.

Vila shrugged. “Well, _if_ we are terrorists...” 

“We are,” Gan said.

“Then we sort of have to do the bomb thing, don’t we?”

“ _Finally_ ,” Blake said. “A show of support! Thanks, Vila. So, we're going to do this?”

“No, wait. I’ve thought of a problem,” Cally said and Blake’s heart sank. “Well, _I_ don’t know how to build a bomb to put in a computer,” she said. “Do _you_ , Blake? Do you, Gan or Jenna or Vila? _So_ ,” she said, spelling it out for her audience, “isn’t that going to be a problem?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll ask Avon,” Blake said. “He’s the computer expert, isn’t he?” The others exchanged dubious glances. “ _AVON_?” Blake shouted across the picnic tables.

Somewhere in the distance, Avon heard the sound of his name and swung towards the group, gun outstretched. Blake beckoned, and Avon broke into a run. Half way across the picnic area, he tripped in the trailing strap of another family’s sandwich cooler. Blake and the others looked away as the owner of the  cooler tried to apologise to Avon and make sure he wasn’t badly hurt, and Avon tried to pretend nothing had happened so there was no need to apologise.

“Are you all right?” Cally said when he finally arrived at their table, bleeding slightly from the nose.

“Fine,” Avon said without moving his mouth very much. “What is it?”

“Did you know we were terrorists?” Vila asked him.

Avon stared at him. Eventually, once he’d established this wasn’t a joke, he said, “Yes.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Well – er,  _no_ ,” Vila said, as though it was obvious and irritating.

“What did you think the guns were for?”

“I thought they were hair curlers,” Vila said. “I admit, I wondered why we carried them around everywhere, but I just thought – that, well, that Jenna and Blake were in charge, and they,” he tailed off slightly, “didn’t like flat hair...”

“No,” Avon said.

“Live and let live, that’s what I say,” Blake said. He laughed. “Well, except for Servalan. Oh, and Avon, that reminds me-”

“What do you want, Blake?” Avon said.

 _You, you daft, beautiful weirdo,_ Blake thought, as usual slightly at sea whenever Avon was standing within arm’s length of him. Particularly if Avon was cross with him. But it was all hopeless. Avon would never... even though he thought sometimes that maybe Avon _might_... but it was silly to even think about it.

“A bomb,” he said in a small voice. “For a computer. Servalan’s computer. I thought-”

“We’re discussing our next terrorist action,” Jenna explained helpfully.

“Ah,” Avon said. “Well, in that case- I agree with whatever Blake says.”

Blake looked up at him. “Really?” he said, breaking into an enormous, ridiculous grin. Cally wolf-whistled. “Oh, Avon. That’s great. I would never have thought- I mean, you’re always-”

“Slip of the tongue,” Avon muttered. “I _meant_ ,” he shut his eyes, presumably to try and block out the faces of his colleagues and gain control of himself, “I _dis_ agree with whatever Blake says. Obviously.”

“Oh,” Blake said.

“What about if Blake said the sky was blue?” Jenna asked. (The sky was indeed blue that day).

“Well,” Avon said.

“Or if he said the grass was green?” Gan said, getting into it.

“Well, yes, obviously, in that case-”

“What about if he said your name was Avon?” Vila said, grinning.

“All right,” Avon said. “I get it. Very funny.” He attempted to laugh, to be part of the joke.

“Or if he said you were the sexiest man alive?” Cally said.

“Well, I- He wouldn’t say that,” Avon said. His eyes flicked to Blake. “Would you? You wouldn’t... you don’t-”

“No,” Blake said. “Obviously not.” Avon seemed to relax, and Blake was so relieved that he kept talking. “And I _definitely_ wouldn’t say it out loud.”

Jenna choked on her cigarette smoke, and Gan had to hit her very hard on the back. Blake wished the grass under the picnic table would open up and swallow him, if Avon wouldn’t.

“Shouldn’t we be going?” Cally said into the awkward silence, otherwise only broken by the noises of choking and hitting. “We don’t want to miss our ferry.”

“Great idea, Cally. Thanks,” Blake said.

Somehow he managed to get everyone into the car without having to talk to Avon.

*

“Look, it’s not my fault,” Jenna said. “I _asked_ for a ten o’clock ferry. I meant the evening one – I didn’t realise they were doing the twenty four hour clock.”

“So, we’ve missed it?” Vila said from the backseat where he was crammed in between Avon, Cally and Gan. “By what, twelve hours?”

“Apparently,” Avon said.

“Well, that's just brilliant, isn't it? You know, I was really looking forward to that cheap booze.”

“Hey - that's  _lying low,_ remember?" Blake said. "Wine only on the side."

“I thought we were _throwing her off the scent_ in Calais,” Gan said. "Isn’t that what you said earlier?”

“Well, whatever it was we can’t do it now,” Blake said.

“It’s not my fault!” Jenna said. She opened the passenger door of the Volvo. “I’m going to go and shout at someone until they change our reservation time.”

“I’ll come with you,” Gan said. “I could use the chance to stretch my legs.” He opened the back door (the one that was still working) and climbed out.

“Blake - can Vila and I go and get some snacks?” Cally said, leaning forward into the front.

“Alcoholic snacks,” Vila put in.

“There’s a cooler of beers in the boot,” Blake pointed out.

“They belong to Orac,” Vila said. “You know how he gets.”

“All right,” Blake said. “Go on then. See if I care.” He was sunk in gloom and not only because it looked as though they weren’t going to be able to get to France that evening. “Don’t get lost though.” He wound down the window and shouted after them. “ _Stay together!_ And be back here in an hour!” He wasn’t sure they’d heard.

For a while, he fiddled with the radio, trying to find something to listen to, but it had been broken for the last year and only produced different varieties of static. He turned it off again.

“I’ve written you a virus,” Avon said from the back seat.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Blake shouted, “Christ. _Avon_.” He clutched at his chest and turned around to glare at Avon. “How long have you been there? I thought you went with the others.”

“... No,” Avon said. He stared at Blake for a moment, and Blake stared back at him, and then Avon proffered his laptop in Blake’s direction. “With this virus you can delete Servalan’s photographs from her computer... without using a bomb. We don’t even need to be in the same place as her. I just need an internet connection.”

Blake looked at the incomprehensible lines of numbers and letter and symbols displayed on Avon’s computer. “You wrote that for me?”

“Mm,” Avon said thoughtfully. “Well... Why not?”

“You know, Avon, “ Blake said, “I’ve always thought you were a really good bloke. From the very beginning.”

“And handsome?” Avon said.

“Eh?” Blake said.

“Nothing,” Avon said quickly. “Freudian... you know, thing. Never mind.”

“...All right?” Blake said.

“I’m not _gay_ , Blake,” Avon said, apropos of nothing.

“I never said you were. Being miserable is sort of your trademark by now,” Blake said. “You’re like Eeyore, to my Winnie-the-Pooh. But I’m sure you’re probably happy on the inside. Like when Eeyore got that balloon, only because you did something nice for someone, rather than the other way around. Who do you think is Tigger? Cally? Vila’s obviously Piglet, Jenna’s Kanga, Gan’s-”

“No,” Avon said. “I mean... Blake, I’m not... _gay_. Not... um, _homo_ sexual.”

“Oh, I _see_ ,” Blake said. “Are you... well, are you _sure_ about that, Avon? Really sure? It’s just- I always thought- all the leather...”

“Leather’s warm,” Avon said quickly. “I get cold easily.”

“And the times you grabbed me when the car turned too fast?”

“I have poor balance,” Avon said. “What I’m saying,” Avon said, “is that I would have to be really... _really_ drunk before I would ever do anything with you. For example... have _sex_ with you. In the back of this car. While the others are all out.”

“Is that a hint?” Blake said.

“... No,” Avon said. Then he said, “Possibly. Why?”

“Well, because they’re out now, aren’t they?” Blake said, still not exactly sure where this was going.

“Mm,” Avon said.

“And there are beers in the boot... but, I think, only about three cans. And they belong to Orac. And I’m not sure how drunk you can get on three cans-”

“I think... we should find out,” Avon said.

*

Avon was apparently a light-weight, because he’d only drunk half of one can before he started to kiss Blake, awkwardly and as though he couldn’t quite believe he was doing it, but definitely kissing him. The backseat of the Volvo, which had just about been big enough to seat four members of Blake’s crew, was basically too small for them to have sex in – at least, the kind of sex Blake would have liked them to have. He almost got stuck between the seats when he tried to go down on Avon, and Avon hit his head on the roof when he tried to readjust their position so he was the one on top.

In the end Blake just put Avon’s hand in his trousers, and put his own hand in Avon’s trousers, and they brought each other off as Avon alternatively said things like ‘This doesn’t mean anything’, and ‘Oh, God, Blake’, and ‘Of course, this doesn’t mean anything’.

Once they were done, Blake realised the beer that Avon hadn’t finished had been knocked over, and was now glugging out onto the floor. He had to mop it up with the squeezy-pillow-thing they used to remove condensation from the windscreen, while Avon (who was trying to give up smoking but not very well) stood outside and furiously smoked his way through an entire pack.

“Does it smell funny in here to anyone else?” Jenna said when she and Gan returned with tickets to the midnight ferry, and Vila and Cally piled back in with three clinking bags of alcohol and a family-sized pack of crisps.

“Funny?" Avon said. "No." 

“Oh, I, er, spilled a beer back there,” Blake said.

“Eugh,” Cally said. “Is that why my seat’s damp?”

“Yes,” Avon said.

*

“Passports?” the lady in the kiosk said when they drove up.

Jenna removed hers from the glove compartment and handed it over. There was a rummaging in the backseat and then four additional passports were handed through the gap between Jenna and Blake’s seats.

“What about mine?” Blake said. “Didn’t anyone bring mine?”

“We all brought our own,” Jenna said.

“But I’m the leader,” Blake said. “I thought someone was looking after it for me.”

“I’m afraid if you don’t have a passport, I can’t let you on the ferry,” the kiosk woman said.

“Oh hell,” Blake said. “I’m really sorry everyone. I've really screwed up, haven't I? Looks like we’ll have to go back.”

“Why?” Vila said. “After all, the rest of us... _do_ have our passports, don’t we?

“That’s true,” Cally said.

“I’d rather not have shouted myself hoarse for nothing,” Jenna agreed.

“I’ll drive,” Avon said, getting out of the back seat and coming round to the driver’s door.

“Avon?” Blake said, feeling Avon’s betrayal like a punch in the gut as he got out of the car.

“Sorry,” Avon said. He looked at his feet. “Nothing personal. Obviously we’d all really like you to come with us. It’s just... the wine is very cheap. We sort of... have to go.”

“Wine,” Blake said, clutching at straws. “Wine, that’s it – you can’t drive. You’re drunk. So are all the rest of you. You need me to do the driving. I’m the only one who isn’t drunk. Vila can’t even drive-”

“Hey!”

“Well, you can’t.”

“I’m not drunk,” Avon said as he got into the car. “I only had half a can.” He gave Blake a small smile, which briefly gave Blake hope that they’d all reconsider... before the Volvo drove off up the ramp and onto the ferry.

“Some friends,” the kiosk-lady said sympathetically. “I’m sorry, love. But if you ask me, that's the last you'll ever see of them.”

“No,” Blake said. “I'm coming back. And this time, I’ll bring my passport.”

*

Some time later, somewhere else:

“Travis,” said Servalan, “what the hell has happened to all my photos?”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Script Treatment: AT BLAKE'S](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9266816) by [Match (pachipachi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pachipachi/pseuds/Match)




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